


Aw, Sugar.

by luvliv2004



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-01 14:44:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13297086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luvliv2004/pseuds/luvliv2004
Summary: Frank is a lonely man who enjoys midnight trips to a local diner, but when he meets a mysterious man named Gerard who won’t tell him what he does for a living, he’ll have a better game to play than guessing how old the pie in the bakery case is.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for:  
> Blood  
> Sex  
> Subjectively problematic characters/subplots  
> Drugs/Alcohol 
> 
> It’s rated Mature for a reason. If you can’t handle it, I suggest that you don’t read it.

I didn’t need him. I didn’t even know him. I kept telling myself that as I stared back at him and his jet black hair. All black, except for his roots; a fluorescent teal. His dye job made it look as if that was the color that grew out of his head, and he had just neglected to hide it, like he was an alien or something. He’s mysterious. I liked that. The hollows of his eyes were a bit red. Okay, maybe not a bit red. They were a flaming salmon. The color even made its way down to his mouth. How? I don’t know. I guess that’s just the uniform for a customer of Maurice’s at 2:30 am.

In one hand, he flipped the pages of a magazine, and underneath it, he held a leather bound notebook. I stood up in my seat just a tad. Nope, not a magazine, it’s a comic book. In his other hand, he fiddled around with the tail of his black and grey striped scarf. He looked away from his book only for a second to pick up his white styrofoam cup. He brought it to his mouth. It was black coffee. No sweeteners or milk or specialty brews. I could smell it from where I was sitting. It was so quiet in the room that I could hear him biting and chewing the styrofoam once he’d emptied his cup. I wanted so bad to just make a move; maybe to go over and sit next to him; to start a conversation and maybe buy him a refill. But for obvious reasons, I couldn’t. 

That beautiful face of his was mesmerizing, but a face like that surely came along with a mouth that wouldn’t hesitate to yell, “Leave me the fuck alone.” He shifted in his booth. No. He couldn’t be leaving so soon. He’d been there for a shorter amount of time than I had. He folded his books closed, tucked them under his arm, and whipped his scarf back around his neck. We made eye contact for a second. His eyes said that he was over the world. My eyes jetted to something else. I could only hear him walking towards the trashcan to throw away his cup. Then, without even looking back or shivering from the cold outside, he left, taking with him the vampiric face that I would never see again. 

I set my head on the table, moaning and cursing to myself, deciding whether or not I should repress his face immediately or savor it by branding it into my brain forever. Before I could choose, I heard the door of the joint opening again. When I looked up, I saw the man walking back in. Perhaps he might have forgotten something, but I knew he was there for me. I just knew it.

It all came as a rush of nausea and joy as he made eye contact with me for a second time and stood over my booth. “Is the blue Altima parked out front yours?” He asked me, his voice more nasally and feminine than I had expected. I was too stunned to answer. This person, who I had never met before and thought I was never going to see again, knew what car I drove. For a second, I questioned if he’s even talking to me. A quick look around the diner reminded me that I’m the only other person in the room. 

“Uh, Yeah?” I questioned. Normally, I can feel people’s eyes on me infecting me with their disapproval of my hair or my tattoos or my piercings, but his eyes, they’re clean. 

“Well, you left your light on inside. I’d hate for your battery to die.”

“Aw shit! Thanks for telling me.” I stood up and begin to walk to the parking lot. He followed. “I’m Frank by the way.” I add in, then regretting how awkward and direct I can be. 

He nodded as I pulled my car keys from my pocket. “Gerard.” He informed. “G’night.” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a white zippo lighter. I started my car and he took his first puff. I could see that he likes to hold it deep in his lungs for a long time. Just as I clicked the interior light back off, he exhaled slowly and began to walk away. 

“Hey! Gerard!” I called to him. I couldn’t just let him go that easy. His head spun to face me. “D’you want a ride?” Fuck! I sounded like such a pervert.

He sighed. “Sure, S’long as you can take my smoke.” I was surprised that he actually accepted.

“I don’t mind, as long as you share.” I teased, unlocking the passenger side door. He walked over to the seat and sat down. As I reversed the car out of the parking lot, it dawned on me: There was a stranger in my car. I didn’t plan on doing anything bad to him, let me rephrase that, illegal, but just the realization that I could, that I totally could, shook me to my core. “Which way you going?” I asked.

“Left.” He took another puff of his cigarette and passed it to me. The fact that he trusted me enough to drive him home and share the same cigarette with me spoke volumes. I took the smoke and turned left. 

“One question.” I sucked it in, turning the steering wheel with one hand. 

“Yeah?”

“Why are you in my car?” I exhaled.

“Because you offered.”

“Yeah, I know that. But why did you accept? I could be a murder or, or a rapist or something trying to prey on you.” I didn’t mean to scare him, I was just curious as to what he would say. 

“If you’re a murderer, where’s your gun? If you’re a rapist, then go ahead, I’m ready. Although I don’t think that it would be considered rape at this point.” Holy shit. Did he really make a joke about this? 

“You must really not value your life to be able to say that.” I handed him back his cigarette. 

He took another puff and groaned. “I killed a man at work today.” 

“What the fuck! Where the hell do you work?” I nearly crashed the car.

“I’ll tell you later.” Later? What did he mean later? I wasn’t sure if I wanted there to be a later with him or not. 

“Okay...”

“You know what? Fuck it. Just take me to your place. I can’t go home right now.” He exhaled.

“No!” I squealed, “I’m not letting you in my home!” 

“Oh come on,” he took another puff, held it in for a second, and blew it right in my face just before leaning back in the passenger seat, “you don’t think I couldn’t see you looking at me in there. This is probably a dream come true for you.”

He wasn’t wrong, and I didn’t know how to feel about that. “It doesn’t matter if I’m interested in you or not, you’re a murderer. I can’t let a murderer in my bed!”

“Who said I was a murderer?” 

I could just see it in his eyes. “You just said you killed a man at work today. Where the fuck do you even work?”

“Ya know, not all deaths are murders.” 

“Okay, then if it wasn’t a murder, then what was it?” 

He sniffled, “A damn shame.” He hit the cigarette again. 

I kept on driving, realizing that he probably had more motivation and power to do something illegal to me. I was terrified, turning down the cigarette as he offered it to me again, my hands sweating on the steering wheel, my ears aching as he turned the stereo on—it wasn’t even that loud, but I was still affected— yet throughout all of this mess, I still found myself driving to my apartment. 

He threw his stubby butt of the cigarette out of the window as “Sweet Caroline” began to play. I could hear him humming along to the pre-chorus in a— numb kind of way. As the chorus came along, he wiped over his mouth preparing himself for the iconic, “Bum, Bum, Bum.” He shouted it out like it was his birthright to do so. I jumped a bit, and I couldn’t help but ask. “You from Boston or something?” 

He shook his head. “Nah, Nah. Summit.” There was no passion in his one sided speech. 

“No way! Belleville.” I couldn’t help but be proud. There’s just something about Jersey. 

He laughed. “It’s not exactly something I’m proud of.” His voice was eerie somehow, but I didn’t give him the overly-passionate, defensive response he wanted. “Ya know, I had a gun pulled on me when I was fifteen. Execution style, ya know.”

“Well three cheers for life! Hooray! You survived the New Jersey projects. Get in line.” I didn’t mean to be rude, but he was really milking this whole gun story. The smile on his face as he spoke about it made me think that he had made it all up. I can tell that I’ve made him angry now. 

“Well if you're so tough, let me hear your Bronx tale!”

I didn’t have to think about what I was going to tell him because it is always on my mind, haunting me everyday that I’m alive. I still can see his body whenever I’m not consciously trying to push it out of my mind, blue and purple, rotting and floating as he drifted towards me. “I was only eight or nine, taking my dog for a walk by the pond. I go and turn the corner, and I see the decaying corpse of this bum I used to know. His name was Charles. I’d give him my leftover king-sized chocolate bars that I used to steal from the corner store. He was stabbed, and the police said that he had been robbed. I’d given him a chocolate bar the day before I found him. It was probably the last thing he ate.” I could hear my own voice growing creakier as I became infected with emotion. If I were telling this story to any other human, I’d try to save myself the pity. But that night, I wanted Gerard to feel like a real scumbag. I think I got what I wanted. 

He didn’t say a word the rest of the ride home. 

•

As we walked through the apartment complex, I couldn’t help but clutch my pearls. I had no clue if this guy was going to rob me or not, and I was honestly regretting every word I had said to him. My mind told me to do everything in my power to prepare myself for the worst of situations, so I conjured enough spit in my mouth if I needed to distract him. I barely noticed that I had been clenching my fist so hard that my nails started to leave cuts in my hand. In the end, I’d take a bloody palm over a casket any day. He followed me to my suite the same way a private investigator would a mobster. I kept resisting the urge to tell him to back off. Who knew what would have happened if I would have lashed out on him like that. 

As we both stood in front of the door, I reached into my pockets for my key. My deep pockets made me bend over pretty far to reach their, seemingly, endless bottoms. Of course my keys had to be in the pocket closest to him. I tried to look away as I was so obviously breaching his bubble of personal space. He had been close enough to smell me. I know that because I could smell him. His smell was a lot cleaner than I predicted it would be. Aside from the obvious cigarettes, his hair secreted a minty head and shoulders scent. The rest of his body smelled like he had taken a bath in hand sanitizer. The combination of fragrances was strange, but it was still a hell of a lot better than my smell. For that, I was insecure. 

I turned the key into the lock, thankful that he couldn’t smell me anymore. I let him walk in first: My first chivalrous mistake. “You can just crash on the couch. There’s a blanket over th—“ He had already taken off his scarf, placed his books on the kitchen counter, and made his way towards my open bedroom door. The little fucker knew that he had to be quick because he wasn’t exactly welcome. “Hey!” I ran after him. I jogged into my room and found him taking off his shirt bad boy style. You know, when a guy crosses over both of his hands on his chest to take off his shirt in one swift motion. It appeared that Gerard had mastered it. “What the fuck are you doing? This is my bed.” 

He continued to undress, taking off his pants. That infamous rattle of belt hardware sounded throughout the room. My natural reaction was to turn away, 1.) So he couldn’t use the fact that I watched him undressing against me in the future, and 2.) To hide my hard-on. “I don’t mind sharing.” He rubbed at his eyes, “Don’t worry,” he yawned and pulled back the sheet of my bed, slipping into the wrinkles of cotton. “I’ll be gone by morning if I’m that much of a burden.” Oh no, no, no, Mr. Gerard. You are not gonna make me look like the mean guy in this situation— like I was some heartless monster that would turn a stray puppy out to the rain.

He settled in my bed on his side: his back was to me, and his hair was sprawled out across my pillow. As irritating as it was to see another person contaminating my pillow with his Head and Shoulders hair, I couldn’t help but be taken back by the sight of his slender body lying in my bed. He wasn’t muscular, but don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t a string bean. The way he curled up on my side of the bed was quite adorable. I could tell he was uncomfortable by the way his feet kept squirming under the blanket, but he was also taking as little space as possible to make room for me. As damaged and as cold as he seemed, I deduced that he wanted me to sleep next to him. No, by the way he slept like the rest of the litter was just gonna sleep right on top of him, I needed to sleep next to him. I needed to make sure that no one else slept on the runt. “Can you get the light?” He requested, lifting his head off of the pillow so his voice wouldn’t get muffled. 

“Uh, Yeah.” I didn’t realize that I was standing there for the longest time, just staring at him. I made my way over to the light switch and flipped it off. Now, only the light from the street signs and the green numbers on my alarm clock illuminated the room. Holy shit, it was 3:34 am. It’s not like I had work the next day, but still, this one night of joy riding was gonna fuck up my sleep for weeks. I knew it. 

As I began to take my shirt off, I found myself imitating Gerard: The bad-boy-shirt-take-off-thingy that I’ve always wanted someone to do right before they had sex with me. Fuck, don’t tell me I wanted to be like him too. Same with my pants. I threw my clothes on the floor right next to his in a heap. It wasn’t until I took my place in my bed that I realized how hard it would be in the morning to sort out what was whose. 

Fuck it. It was late— early, and I was about to sleep with a naked stranger in my bed. Shoot me. If it weren’t for the fact that I hadn’t worn a shirt to sleep since I was literally eight and superstitiously couldn’t put one on, I’d definitely be wearing at least a tank top. But that night, I didn’t mind the unaddressed sexual tension. It’s fresh. 

I got into my bed, facing him. For a second, I stared at him again. I’ve obviously never seen myself asleep, but I knew that he slept prettier than I ever could. I hated to ruin this gorgeous snapshot in time for myself, but my questions just couldn’t wait any longer. “Who’d you kill? Can you at least tell me that?” The room seemed something quieter than silent after my words had cleared from the air. I knew he was awake.

“His name was Matthew.” His voice was soft with misty hints of exasperation. I was pressing him for information, and he didn’t want to talk. “That’s all I can tell you.” He only then opened his eyes after he had finished his sentence. The look in his eyes showed desolation. He didn’t examine me. He was too busy in his own mind to do that. 

“Alright. That’s okay.” I tried to sound like my mom if I had flashed her the same eyes he had shown me. “Y-You don’t have to leave if you don’t want to.” 

He nodded, muttering a quiet, “mhm,” right before closing his eyes again and moving his hand underneath his pillow. I could see the darkened specks of skin that decorated his arms. Scars; multiple, circular, and brown they hovered on his skin, just above the blue rivers of reins that flowed under his flesh Fuck! Had I brought a junkie home? I didn’t take Gerard for the heroin type. 

Within seconds, he was asleep. I could tell because his breathing slowed. I never understood how people can just close their eyes and fall asleep, just like that. It has always taken me a good thirty minutes of pitch-black darkness just to recognize that my empty room is safe enough to sleep in. Call me paranoid. 

There was just something about the room that night that put me at ease— slightly. Something about having a person next to me calmed me down a little. Even if he was probably exhausted out of his mind, something told me that he’d’ve have my back if anything went wrong. You know what, I’d’ve probably do the same.

I hadn’t felt this safe since Tim. Sure, he’d beat me till my ribs broke and screamed loud enough to scratch his voice, but I knew that the same hands that could bludgeon me black and blue could also strangle anything that tried to hurt either of us. Ever since I left, I haven’t been able to sleep the same. A good night sleep wasn’t worth a week long struggle of hiding bruises from colleagues, and feeling like I was truly to blame for his outbursts. But that’s all behind me now. Tim was long gone, and Gerard was right in front of me, literally. I didn’t know what the future held for Gerard and me. It was way too soon to tell. But you know, it’s always nice to hope for the best. I hoped that his brooding personality was just a facade for something greater. I hoped that he stuck around for awhile. I’d never explicitly tell him that, but I think he knew. Finally, it all went black. 

Just as I thought I was asleep, I could feel Gerard squirming in bed. It was just his feet at first, kicking and nearly hitting me as his body began to take up more space on the bed. Then, like a drug flowing through his veins, it radiated up through this body, and before I could comprehend what was happening, his whole body is trembling. His arms were thrashing at his sides as the sweaty, white comforter drowns him. He began to whimper at first. It was soft and almost winsome. But then, it grew louder and louder. He screamed for his life. He threw his chest around, slowly inching farther away from me and closer to the edge of the bed. I didn’t stop him because I was stunned. The noises he made were so sudden and unsettling to me at such an early hour. I couldn’t barely hold my hands over my ears in fright as he continued with his night terror. I looked over at the clock. Fuck. Only 4:01. I probably didn’t even get ten minutes of sleep before Gerard started with this shit.

I looked back over at him, waiting for him to stop his convulsions. When I turned back, he had managed to get on his stomach. I couldn’t tell if he had gotten control yet. It was highly unlikely seeing as immediately after I turned to face him, he fell off the bed, face first onto the floor. 

The screaming stopped. I couldn’t hear him trying to get up, or even a groan of pain. I took my hands off my ears and leaned forward over the edge of the bed to get a look at him. His face was down of course; his arms were sprawled around him like he had just fallen from a twenty story building. What a drama queen. Under his head, faced away from me— Shit! It was blood. The puddle was growing larger too. “Fuck!” I yelled as I jumped off of my bed to the bathroom. I scrambled back to Gerard with a towel. Sure it was still damp from my shower earlier in the day, but he was in no position to complain. “Gerard! Get up!” He lifted his head. I could see a trail of blood still gushing from his nose. His eyes looked lost. “Here.” I handed him the towel. He took it and sat up, leaning his back against the bed, dirtying my bed sheets with red. As he swung his thigh around to a comfortable position, his boxers touched the puddle of blood and absorbed it. He was too preoccupied to notice. He held the towel up to his nose, pressing it hard up against his face, leaning his head forward. “Aren’t you supposed to hold your head back?” I suggested, leaning forward to help him. 

“No.” He waved my hands away. “That’s the opposite of what you want to do.” Boy, if I hadn’t thought his voice was nasally before: It only got worse with a nostril full of blood and his towel pressed against it. Every time he removed the towel to find a clean spot, the blood instantly came right back. It dripped into his mouth, staining his teeth a bright scarlet. He tasted it. It ran down his chest and all over his hands. That look was just so hot. Hot enough for the both of us to not realize that I was staring at him; Again. His nose bled for another ten minutes. He wasn’t forcing anything out, it was just a constant heavy gush of blood. The full sized body towel I had given him had been completely covered in blood— not to mention ruined. It became so wet that even as he lightly squeezed it, the blood leaked out on his lap. That couldn’t’ve be healthy. “You need to take me to the hospital.” He ordered. “Saint Helena’s General Hospital, alright?” I nodded. “I’m anemic, and if I don’t get a blood transfusion within the next hour, I could die.” 

Of course he’d die. Of course his life had to be in my hands. “Duh-Do you want me to call an ambulance?” I offered .

“No, no, no.” I could see the blood coming out of his mouth as he spoke. “It’ll be a lot quicker and safer if you just drive me.” 

I nodded again. I couldn’t stop nodding as I reached into the pile of clothes and threw him the first pair of pants, shirt, and jacket I saw. He put it on as I grabbed him more towels and got myself dressed. As I helped Gerard off the floor, I realized that he was wearing my shirt. I looked down at myself, and saw his shirt on my body. Of course, I just had to give him the wrong set of clothes. There was already a blood stain on my shirt. Fuck me! “Can you walk?” I asked him.

He nodded. The towel pressed to his face flapped with each up and down motion he made. We walked back to my car, quickly. Luckily, he remembered where I had parked it. I didn’t want to be caught outside at night for too long. Lord only knew all of the crackheads and rabid raccoons that hung out around my apartment. 

The car started up easily, and I drove him to his hospital. He sat bolt-upright in the passenger seat. His eyes were shut tightly, and his towel started to fill up again. Once we stopped at a red light, he began coughing. It was muffled by all of the blood and mucus in his throat. He wheezed for breath, and I had no choice but to stop the car. “Are you alright?” I was so worried when I didn’t get an answer from him. He sat back comfortably in the seat, resting his head on the seat and removing the towel from his face, letting the stream of blood drip down his face, neck, and chest. 

“Right on.” He replied once he caught his breath again. I kept driving. His neck went limp. His head slid down the seat, and I freaked out again. 

“Gerard!” I grabbed at his hand. “Gerard, wake up. Don’t you fucking die on me. Take my fucking hand.” I squeezed him. Some part of me thought that this would help his circulation. I felt like Vince Vega, driving Mia Wallace to Lance’s house for a shot of adrenaline. 

“Keep driving. I’m fine.” He squeezed my hand right back as proof. The older parts of town that surrounded the hospital started to become more familiar, thankfully, and before I knew it, I was pulling into the parking lot. 

Just as I parked the car, I remembered that I had been holding his hand the entire ride, clenching him and waiting for him to do the same back. It was almost as if I was helping him through labor pains— minus the thrashing, screaming, and overall responsiveness one would expect from a child-rearing mother. I managed to park right in front of the emergency room. It wasn’t that far of a walk to the front office. I ran around to Gerard’s door, opening it for him. It took him awhile, but he stood up on his own, rejecting my offers of help. 

“You good?” I asked him. You can never be too sure. 

“Right on.” He left the towels behind in the car. He was still bleeding, but it was nowhere as bad as it had been earlier. In the parking lot lights, I could see that the red around his eyes had disappeared. It was replaced with a stark ring of yellow. It was evident even under all of the blood on his face. Thirty steps later, we entered through the glass doors of the E.R. It was empty of patients which is surprising considering that it was a Friday night/ Saturday morning. 

“Oh no. Gerard, baby. What happened?” The woman behind the desk asked him. She looked like the kind of adorable little black lady that everyone wishes was their grandmother. 

Gerard shuffled to the desk. “Oh Melina, I hit my nose, and now I need another transfusion.” He announced as I took a seat in the waiting room. 

“Aw sugar, that’s just too bad. Pesky anemia, always creeping up on you.” She tapped her nails on the keyboard. I could hear them all way from where I was sitting. She leaned over to the operating printer and pulled out a freshly made hospital bracelet for Gerard. He stuck his arm out like he knew it was coming. She wrapped it around his wrist, trying her hardest not to touch the blood on his hands. “Just head on in. I’ll page Dr. McCracken right away, he’s not busy at all!” 

“Thanks.” 

She buzzed the door open to the examination rooms. Before he walked through the door, he gestured towards me to come with him. It didn’t seem right for me to go with him, but I still found myself standing up and jogging after him. “We’re gonna be here for a while. You’ll get bored out here.” He informed as we walk through the door.

“See ya Tuesday, honey.” Melina called to Gerard as we passed her desk. Gerard smiled a bloody smile. As far as I was paying attention, Melina never told Gerard which room to go to, yet Gerard knew exactly where to go. He led me down a long hallway, and we turned left and right about 50 times. Finally, we stopped in front of room C-26. Gerard knocked on the closed door of the room, and almost immediately after, a soft, “Come in,” was heard through the other side. Gerard opened the door and sat on the bed. The doctor was typing away at his computer when we walked in. As I took the only open seat in the small examination room, I noticed a table full of things that had already been prepared. There was a bag of blood in a metal tray, along with an I.V stand next to his bed, a packaged needle, and what looked like a tampon soaking in another steel bowl filled with water. 

“Hey Bert.” Gerard called to the doctor. I wondered why they were on a first name basis. 

“Hey Gerard.” The doctor finally turned around, reaching for a fresh pair of latex-free gloves. It said so on the box. “D’j’ya get drunk again tonight, and hit your nose?”

Gerard shrugged. “I don’t remember. Ask this one.” He pointed to me.

“Uh, Uh,” I tried to collect myself to explain to the doctor what had happened. “Gerard was having a night terror, and he fell off of my bed. He hit his nose on the floor and hasn’t stopped bleeding since.” 

“Ah, I see.” The doctor took the cotton stick out of the water, holding it like a dart in his hand. “So, Gerard was in your bed.” He shoved it straight down Gerard’s left nostril. Gerard barely flinched at the action, only to laugh at Bert’s joke once the thing was inserted. It looked like it had to hurt. 

How was everyone so calm? We had just walked into an E.R, one of us covered in blood, got let right in, and Gerard had gotten nose probed; all while the Doctor had been cracking jokes about us. How was I the only one freaking out right now? “Just kidding.” Bert joked as he reached into the cupboard above the sink for a blanket. I couldn’t refer to him as a doctor anymore. He didn’t seem nearly professional enough for that title. Now I saw how it was so easy for Gerard. Bert unfolded the blanket, laying it over Gerard’s body. “I’m just offended that he was able to rebound with you so quickly.” 

“Hey, we didn’t have sex!” Gerard defended. I barely even noticed the piece of tape that had been stuck to his cheek. I guess it was a part of his nostril apparatus. 

“Sure you didn’t.” He opened up the needle, attaching it to the I.V line. He rolled up Gerard’s jacket sleeve for him. A front of pure terror washed over Gerard’s face. “You know the drill, look away.” Bert ordered. Gerard turned his head so far away that I could see his neck muscles straining underneath his skin. He covered his eyes with his other sleeve. Bert opened an alcohol pad and rubbed it over Gerard’s forearm. Gerard shivered from the cold, wet sensation. Within seconds, Bert had inserted the needle into his skin. Gerard winced. When Bert fixed the needle’s tape onto his arm and set the bag on the I.V hook, Gerard almost immediately lowered his sleeve and covered his arm with the blanket. “I’ll be back in 30 minutes. No PDA while I’m gone.” Bert informed as he threw away his gloves in the red trash can. I shuddered at the loud shutting of the door. 

Gerard eyed me for a second. Of course the doctor had said nothing about it, but I didn’t think his nose was broken. The bruising around his left eye had started to become more apparent. He still didn’t look half bad. All of the blood and bruises gave him a sort of rebellious look. I could dig it. “Boy,” I started, “you have the best healthcare plan on planet fuckin Earth.” He laughed. “I mean, they literally just let you walk right in. You didn’t have to fill out any forms or anything.” He nodded a flashy smile at me. “What kinda sketchy institution is this?” 

“It’s not sketchy. It’s obligated.” What obligation, though? Gerard spoke very vaguely. I loathed that quality. 

“What, is Bert your brother or something?” 

“No! No, God no!” There was offense in his voice. “Do I look like a Gerard McCracken to you?” 

Now that he said that, the name really didn’t suit him. I just needed answers. “Well if it’s not Gerard McCracken, then what is it?”

He sighed. “Way.”

Way. I’d never heard that as a name before.

Gerard Way. Frank Way. Frank Anthony Way. No— Gerard Iero. Much better. 

“Nice.” I sat back comfortably in the seat. Gerard’s bag still looked as plump and as full of blood as it did before Bert hooked him up to it. He was right. We would be here for a while. “You look real used to this. Has your blood always been like this?” Come on. Give me more, give me more.

“Yeah. Pretty much.” His voice had started to sound tired. I couldn’t give a shit. If he was going to make me drive him to a fucking hospital at 4:00 in the fucking morning, then the least he could do was let me care about him. “Ever since I was a kid, I’ve been horribly iron deficient.” He pronounced the “o” in horribly like an “a”: Harribly. Cute. “Because my levels are always so low, if I hurt myself anything over a paper cut, I need to come in for a transfusion to balance everything out.” 

“Sounds... harrible.” 

He laughed. “Thanks, Romeo.”

“For what.” I wanted to rub it in his face. 

“Aw blow me! You know, for bringin’ me here. For letting me stay in your apartment. For wastin’ your time.”

“I wouldn’t really say that you’re wasting my time, you actually kinda stole it from me, but your welcome Juliet.” He was smiling real big now. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think he even tucked his hair behind his ear like a girl would when you flirt with her. It was endearing; even with his blood-lathered hands. 

“Let's play a game.” He reached up to his face, pulling at the sponge in his nose. His whole face tensed up as he slowly finessed the thing out and ripped the tape off his cheek. It had to hurt. I didn’t know why he didn’t wait for the doctor to come back. He rubbed his nose in comfort. Luckily, the bleeding had stopped. He’d gotten his voice back. “I can tell that you’re frustrated because You don’t like my answers to your questions.” He leaned over and dropped the half-soaked sponge into the sterile metal bowl. “Specifically, the big question: what I do for a living. To be honest; I never told you what I do for a living because I know how much not knowing the answer to that question eats at you. If you know me, which you don’t, you’ll know that I don’t like being objectified. You probably couldn’t even tell, but I knew what you were doing in Maurice’s this morning. I saw your reflection on the glass looking at me; drooling at me like a dog over a piece of raw meat. I knew that you were starving for attention, maybe even a good fuck, so I cast myself out as bait.” He was practically laughing. “Oh Romeo, you hungry little fish. You took the bait, and we found each other in the front seat of your car. Ya see, it’s been a long time since I’ve been loved; since anyone has really cared for me. So I was so fuckin’ grateful when I was able to learn your name. I apologize for manipulating you, but I know deep down, you loved it; I could see your stiffies. All of them. Your face is drenched with boredom. You haven’t been played in forever. Let me offer you a challenge: You keep me around for as long as you can stand me, and I’ll give you three tries to guess my job. No clues, no cheating, just observations. If you get it right, you’ll have the mental satisfaction of holding a piece of knowledge over me. I guess you could somehow dominate me with it. If you’re wrong all three guesses, I’ll tell you the correct answer. Then, I’ll be out of your hair forever. If you give up like a coward, I won’t tell you at all. That’s my offer.”

Motherfucker! It was brilliant. I could never let him know that. It’s scary how easily he was able to profile me to a tee. I was bored; bored enough to be in a diner at 3:00 in the morning, checking out some guy who turned out to be the weirdest Friday night/ Saturday morning I’ve ever had. He was right. All I wanted in life was to know more about him. A distraction from it all: Something to worry about that wouldn’t matter in the long run. I didn’t even care that I’d been fooled. His plan was too brilliant not to applaud. There was a grin on my face. “Fine. I’ll play your little game.” 

He smirked back. 

“What’s your IQ?” I ask him. Fuck! There I go again: blunt little Frankie. 

“Don’t know.” He closed his eyes, still smiling. There he was again, past asleep. 

For the first time, I notice that there was a hole in the sole of his shoe. I could see it because his feet were dangling off the edge of the bed: The bed which he laid on and caused the sanitary parchment underneath him to wrinkle and warp. His sock was visible— a white Hanes sock with red lettering. I think my grandpa used to wear Hanes socks. It’s pretty hard to think of Gerard the same way I thought of my grandpa, with his eyes closed and methodical as they sat depressed into his face. 

The lids weren’t as red anymore. I kinda missed that. His skin was still plastered with blood. The contrast of the cherry red and the waxen hue of his skin was more than intoxicating. His lips rested with all of the right points on top spiked up in the most relaxed means of seduction. He might as well have been laying in a glass case with a crown of white flowers under his head. It wasn’t until my lips were on his that I realized what I had been doing. I couldn’t even remember walking over to Gerard’s bed and straddling him in his sleep. I only realized it when my goal of waking the princess from her death-like sleep was accomplished. 

Gerard grabbed at the back of my thigh with his untapped hand. He didn’t even open his eyes. I guess he was expecting me. Cheeky bastard. Then it dawned on me. The way Gerard kissed me, the way he sucked and practically ate at my face took years to master. He was an experienced kisser. I remember when he took off his pants in my apartment. His knees were bruised black and green. There was one profession that came to mind when I thought of a person who spent a lot of time on their knees. 

Gerard opened his eyes for the first time since we began kissing. Damn those eyes, staring up at me like a virgin with desire in his gaze. He was so helpless lying under me— so vulnerable in my arms.. I’m a monster. He kissed me back. We were both monsters. 

This time, it’s different. His kiss was more delicate than before. Like the paper doilies that fad cafes put under their cups of coffee, not the jagged peaks of a mountain top. His kiss was meant to make me surrender and silence me, not to seduce or swindle me. He couldn’t have been a prostitute. He’s not commited enough for that. But, he wanted me to think that he was.

“How far are we with the bag?” Bert swung open the door without any warning. “What the hell did I tell you guys about PDA in my office!” He was laughing. 

There I sat, on top of Gerard, his hand still squeezing my ass, with a smile on his face. I jumped off of him, trying my hardest to avoid hitting his needled arm and to maintain any dignity I had left. 

Bert walked up to the blood bag. It hung nearly empty like an upside down caprisun that a toddler had inhaled on a hot day. God, had it already been thirty minutes? “How’r you feeling?” 

“Pretty fuckin great.” Gerard was giggling a wheezy giggle. 

“Well, I see you took your tampon out on your own,” he rolled his eyes, “so did you want to go home?” 

“Yeah.” He started to take off his blanket, stretching his arm out to his side again. 

Bert grabbed a new pair of gloves. He peeled back the tape from Gerard’s arm—he had turned his head again—and slipped the needle out of his skin. 

On our way out of the hospital, I took in my last breath of hand sanitizer and alcohol before we stepped back into the parking lot. The sun wasn’t in the sky yet. Thank god. I wanted to get at least three hours of sleep before Leandra and Augustine started round one of their Saturday morning screaming match. 

He still was covered in blood. Unbelievable. Irresistible. 

As he sat back down in the passenger seat, he grabbed the towel. Once I had gotten in the car, I could see that he was clinging to the towel for warmth. He stayed awake the entire ride home. I could see his eyes struggling in a battle with sleep, opening and closing in attempts to stay awake, with the only thought in his mind the road ahead of him—probably. 

I, on the other hand, was the farthest from sleep I would ever be. The question stood like a brick wall, keeping me from any sweet dream I could have had if I wasn’t driving: What the fuck does this guy do? The thought of him being a prostitute was almost incomprehensible after our kiss. A guy like Gerard simply can’t sell his kiss like that to just anybody. His anemia does explain why his knees are so bruised— I guess. 

My mind went to drugs. But, why would a drug dealer be a drug user himself: Don’t get high off your own supply, ya know. 

A hitman? Nah. That was highly unlikely seeing the level of guilt he showed after he “murdered” Matthew.

Stripper? No: His legs weren’t nearly toned enough for that. 

Illegal gambler? Possibly. He seemed cunning and calculated enough to be able to pull off some sort of illegal casino in his mother’s basement. 

Porn star? Well, we’d just have to see about that one. 

His whole body jolted forward in sleep as I parked, almost the way it would if we would have made it to the hospital too late. I must say, when he wasn’t having a nightmare, Gerard coming out of sleep was placid. He merely adjusted his posture in his seat and began to unbuckle his belt just like he had done the first time. We both marched up to my apartment like a small herd of zombies to the sound of humans. My bed called for us. 

Just as we had done the first time, we undressed and slipped under the bedsheets. Even though the springs of my mattress poked through the thin layer of padding, it was the most comfortable bed in the world— we were that tired. I physically couldn’t bring myself to turn over and face in bed. There was nothing more that I wanted that morning than the last thing I saw before I fell asleep to be his face. My clock read 5:35. Fuck me.

Behind me, I could hear the sheets rustling as he pulled himself closer to me. “I’m going to put my arm here. Okay?” He voiced, soft and strained. I felt his hairless chest pressing up against my back and his cold arm wrap around my waist. 

“Okay.” I was too tired to protest. There was not an ounce of energy left in me to realize that this stranger who I had just suspected was a murderer only hours before was spooning me like we had been married for years. I couldn’t have possibly been able to recognize that my life was quite literally in his hands like his had been in mine. It’s scary thinking back on it. 

Thinking back on it, I guess his frostbitten grip was what kept me calm—kept me alive. He was finally the hand that didn’t slap me when he lost his temper and the voice that actually showed vulnerability and naivety occasionally. He was a face that looked flawless even when covered in a gallon of blood. I loved that about him. 

I woke up the next morning missing something— missing the arm that surely would have become warm from my body heat pressed against my ribs. The clock read 10:19. God, had we slept in that long? “Fuck! It’s late.” I yawned as I stretched and rolled over to face Gerard. For a second, I mistook the balled up comforter for his body. After a few blinks and a couple seconds of adjusting to the bright sunlight seeping through the windows, I was able to see that the space next to me on the bed was empty. I panicked. No. He couldn’t have been gone. All I had to do was walk to my kitchen half naked to find him cooking us breakfast and sipping on a cup of coffee, right? 

My kitchen was empty. No food. No Gerard. Before I had left my room, I only noticed my clothes and shoes on the floor. It was as if every trace of him was gone. Even his smell was gone. “No.” I whisper to myself. I checked my front door. Holy shit. He had left my front door unlocked. I was lucky that no one had accidentally walked in high off smack and that my tv and all of my other valuables hadn’t been stolen. 

I turned around to face my table. It stuck out to me like the only house on the block decorated for Christmas; that yellow piece of notebook paper. “Maurice’s 2:30 AM tomorrow.” I read once I was close enough to see the blocky red letters on the lined sheet. Not again. I couldn’t. I had to.


	2. II

If I had said that that night hadn’t been fun, I’d be lying. That moment had been the most action I’d gotten since Tim. Not just action, I’m afraid, but connection. Sure, I couldn’t tell you what color his eyes were— I hadn’t been close enough—and he didn’t know my last name, but what I had felt that morning was spectacular. The man I had been daydreaming about, the man I never thought I was going to see again, the man I didn’t have the balls to talk to had come back for me. He took my ride. He slept in my bed. I couldn’t tell if he was so open to be malicious, or because he was desperate. If he was desperate, then we would have had something in common. 

As I sat on my couch and ate the bowl of stale Cornflakes that I had poured myself, I almost started to talk, expecting Gerard to be there to answer me. If I hadn't realized that I was alone, I would have asked him what he planned on doing for the day. I wouldn’t ask to come with him, of course—unless he had insisted. I would have just sent him off with a present before he left.

I would have made sure that he was sitting next to me. I’d inch closer to him so that our thighs would be touching, only slightly at first. As we would make conversation, I’d inch closer and closer to him and he wouldn’t protest. When he would finally stop talking and the air would be thick with anticipation, I’d wrap my hand around his thigh and I’d squeeze it, tenderly. He’d let out a sickening groan of pleasure, and I’d know that he would want me just as much as I wanted him. 

With the grace of a ballerina, I’d slide on top of him and wrap my arms around his neck. I’d move my hand to his crotch and begin to rub at it in a rhythm that would match the way that I would be bobbing up and down on him. 

I’d crane my head over his and press our foreheads together. He’d kiss me first, and I’d feel his dick turn into a rock in my hand. He’d look down at me and see that I met his boner and raised him a few centimeters. It would make him laugh.

We’d rock and kiss as I would help him peel off his jeans. The surprise that he wouldn’t have anything on underneath would send a chill behind my ears and down my spine. 

I’d unzip my fly and pull my cock through the hole in my boxer briefs. He’d look down at it and spread his legs high in the air, leaving me just enough room in between to slip inside of him. I’d plant one of my knees on the floor, and rest my other foot next to his leg on the low edge of the couch.

With my cock sticking out right at his level, he’d scoot himself forward. He’d almost fall off the couch to reach my dick. With one hand, I’d be grasping at his arm. With the other, I’d be spitting on my hand and lathering myself with my saliva. The makeshift lubricant would barely help as I stuck the tip of my penis into him. I’d watch his hole spreading open to accommodate the size of my cock. I’d hear him let out a rugged grunt followed by a shrill laugh. 

Every time I’d thrust my member back and forth inside of him, he’d inhale and let a tiny whimper escape his throat. Then, I’d find it in me to go faster. I’d feel myself about to finish. His whimpers and breathing would turn to groans, then from groans to yells, and from yells to full on screams with a particular rhythm that wouldn’t match my own. It wouldn’t matter though, it would only serve as motivation. 

I’d look down at his dick, which he had neglected from the sheer pleasure of it all. He wouldn’t even notice as he came all over himself. Just before I would come, he would lock his fingers in mine. I’d squeeze his hand as I finally climaxed. And just like that, I would have came inside of him. 

I looked down at my boxers past my bowl of cereal. If I would have lowered the bowl anymore, it would have brushed the head of my throbbing penis. The realization that I had just had a sex fantasy about Gerard in the middle of the day was enough to deflate the emotions between my legs. It finally occurred to me how ridiculous I was being.

Within the course of under 12 hours, I had developed an attraction to a person whom I had never met before, took him home with me after he had admitted to killing someone, let him sleep in my bed with me, took him to the hospital where, apparently, he is a regular; kissed him in front of his doctor, and brought him back to my home afterward. Oh! And who can forget that sex dream I just had?

Shit! It was as if I was in my car, and gotten the brake stuck in its position just before I was about to nosedive off a cliff. I recognized how quickly things were going between the two of us. Even though he was tempting me, I couldn’t believe that I had actually given in. I hadn’t been that vulnerable or honest with anyone before. It did occur to me that other people my age would have sex the first time they met someone, but I wasn’t like other people my age. More importantly, Gerard wasn’t like most people my age. 

I looked down at my crotch again. The miserable puddle that bled in my lap served as a reassurance for my decision: I would not have sex with Gerard until I figured out what his job was. I wasn’t very good at puzzles: it be a long time before I figured it out. It would be a great opportunity for me to get to know him better before I exposed myself to him— right? It would be a long, hard time, but it would prevent me from letting him hurt me—right? 

I kept asking myself that as I went about the remainder of my day. My thoughts and insecurities kept me occupied for hours. It wasn’t until 4:00p that I had gotten up from my couch to take a shower. I had finally changed into a new set of clothes without blood stains on them. It made me miss him to take them off: like by wearing his blood on my shirt, I was wearing and holding onto a piece of him: one of the purest pieces I could ever have. By taking them off and eventually washing them, I might lose my only reminder of him for times like this when he couldn’t be around. Is it possible to miss someone you had only met today? I couldn’t wash those clothes. 

As I slipped my socks onto my feet, I couldn’t help but stare at the pile of fabric in which my sweat and his blood simultaneously coexisted, and I saw potential. All the potential I needed to keep me alive and playing his game.

I bent down and grabbed the pile in my hands. I wearily brought it up to my face and inhaled it’s scent: First, my tangy smell of under arm, then the sanitizer from the hospital that I had picked up, and finally, his ceramic blood— just as I had anticipated. I tucked the crimson stained clothes into the drawer of my night stand. 

In attempts to make my bed, I pulled the deschevaled sheet off the floor and glared at the red spot in the upper right corner: him. I’d sleep on it— sleep on him. The matching blood stain on my floor had dried and crusted itself into the linoleum. I washed it away with another one of my dirty shower towels and a bit of water. I didn’t have another set of sheets to change the stain ones or a washing machine to wash the blood off. I could live with it. It would be fine. 

The sun setting in the sky served as a reminder that my second meeting with Gerard only grew closer. I leaned over on my kitchen counter and stared out the window. A few young children played with the basketball hoop out in the parking lot below. As approachable as those boys all seemed, I knew that if I even dared to stare at one of them for more than five seconds, all eight of them would have me on the ground with a black eye and a few broken ribs before I could yell out for help. Everyone in the complex knew not to fuck with the dudes playing night ball. 

The bouncing of their ball was metronomical in the background of my depersonalized trance. I felt my eyes stinging in fatigue and began to wonder just how I would make it to midnight let alone 2:30. I rested my hand down on the counter, bracing myself for the cold concrete. Instead, I was met by the soft wisp of cotton. 

I looked down at my hand, now wrapped around the thick ribbon of Gerard’s scarf. I took it as an omen. It filled me with something that I couldn’t describe as joy, but also didn’t eat at my soul. I smiled down at his clothing with a laugh. 

I grabbed the folded bundle and rubbed the thick woven fibers between my fingers. Underneath the scarf had sat Gerard’s books. On top was his leather bound journal, and underneath was his comic book. I could read the title, “Uncanny X-Men,” from under the journal.

The journal called for me to read it. I couldn’t help myself. Sorry. I picked up the book and turned it to face the spine up. Some of the pages had been wrinkled from moisture. There had even been ink stains on some of the pages. 

The first page had been blank. I flipped to the second. Gerard wrote on the left hand page, “August 30, 2003.” In all capital letters, he’d written, “OSCAR MOLINA,” at the top of the paper. “Today was my first day as a resident—“ Shit. 

I was not supposed to be reading this. I knew it deep down in my erupting stomach that I was never supposed to have this book. I knew that the next couple of words on the next line of this paper would ruin the game. Whatever they said would tell me what Gerard did. In my hand, I held the cheat sheet to his, now, not so brilliant game. 

I take that back. What if Gerard had left this here on purpose, as a test. Maybe I’d read his journal, and then say something that would give away the fact that I knew. Either way, I knew that if I were to read the next line on the paper, I’d be cheating, and I knew that I’d never be able to keep what I’d read to myself. 

So, with all of the want in my mind acting against every muscle in my body, I shut the book. It was better off this way, so much better than me having to pretend to not know, needing to fake playing along and playing dumb. I set the notebook back down in its respective place. 

***

I sat in the same booth that I had the previous night. I had a clear view of the McDonald’s play place across the street through the glass windows and the entrance. The television up in the corner of the diner was playing the news; something about Reagan’s death. It was about damn time. I had been staring at it, focusing, willing the clock to age another minute. 2:03. 2:04. There we go. Just twenty six minutes closer to a massacre. 

“Another coffee?” My waitress had been waiting standing over me, the coffee pot in her hand wafting steam in my face. 

“Uh, yes. Please.” 

She poured me a cup and walked away with the cheeriest smile a waitress working the graveyard shift could.

My fingers wouldn’t pop anymore, I had cracked them so much. The leather jacket I was wearing stuck to the vinyl lining of the booths everytime I readjusted myself. My jacket was no use. I could feel the air conditioning gliding up my sleeves with no resistance. It made my nipples hard and sent a chill down my spine.

I sat waiting a few moments more, staring down at the journal and twisting Gerard’s scarf in my hand. You see, if I was smart like Gerard, I would have actually worn the scarf while I was waiting for him. Shit, I could have easily just bought my own. It would have been cute to have him sit down while I was wearing his scarf. I’d ask him if he had noticed anything, and he’d be clueless until I held the tail of his scarf at his level and with a great, big gasp, he’d laugh and beg for his scarf and books back. 

Beside me, I felt the vibrations of walking approaching my table. I refocused my vision and looked up. Dammit, not Gerard. It had been a young woman with the palest skin I had ever seen. If it wasn’t for her black hair, I might have thought she was an albino. The even younger man that followed her stared back at me with sympathetic eyes. It was almost as if he had recognized that I was waiting for someone whom I had been missing dearly. His eyes whispered a solemn “Sorry,” to me as he passed by. It was only after he had turned his back to me that I had noticed that he had stuck his arm out to his side and held his fingers in such a manner that seemed like he was meant to be holding another person’s hand. I felt even more sorry for him than he did for me.

As they sat down behind me, I could feel the boy’s eyes on me. I took a mouthful of coffee and looked over my shoulder. The boy had his head down as he looked at the menu. His adorable, curious face berated the pictures of breakfast food in an inevitable bout of indecisivity. I mean, there was only so many possible pancake toppings to choose from. I just didn’t understand why he held out his menu as if he was letting the phantom next to him read it too. The spectacle was upsetting at second thought. If someone were to confront him about it, he would probably respond as if there was actually a person there sitting next to him. I’d watch the whole ordeal with a broken heart as his beloved delusion would be denounced. I could only imagine the person that he was visualizing. A dead relative? A hallucinated friend? A lover? 

I felt something brush my foot. I turned forward and saw Gerard waving back at me. God! The way his pinkie stuck out from the rest of his fingers. I couldn't get over that. 

“Hey.” He slurred. He looked like hell. Today, the bags under his eyes were a faint purple. The green of his hair had been slicked with sweat and he was slouching over the edge of the table.

“Hey.” I picked up his books. “You left these—” Was that blood on his face? I gasped. “Did you bleed again?” I pointed to the same spot that I had found the red stain on his face. 

“Aw. fuck! No.” He spat on his sleeve and wiped the side of his face. That was a clue. It had to be. “My books?” He held his hand out. Guesteruring for he to hand them to him. I extended them to him, and he grabbed them eagerly. He tossed his comc aside and opened his notebook, scanning the pages. He knew. A sharp staccato of nerves stabbed me in my stomach. I bet he could smell my fingerprints on that first page. I almost let out a noticeable sigh of relief when he finally set it down on top of his comic book. 

“This too.” I handed him his balled up scarf. 

“Shit! That too!” He had embarrassed himself in forgetting so many of his belongings. I still couldn't tell if he was faking it or not. “Thanks.” He raised his mug of coffee and sipped at it, expecting it to be warm. He was surprised at the beverage’s lukewarm temperature. “What have you been up to?” He asked the lack of sleep was evident in his voice.

Definitely not fantasizing about you! God! I was pathetic. “Just thinking. Ya know. Playing the game.”

“Yeah.” He scratched at the old blood-ridden spot on his face again. It amazed me that it was still so red; but not from blood as I had expected. This time his skin was a puffy red, almost inflamed—like he had been slapped real hard. 

“What’s up with your face.” That came out too harsh, as if i was pointing out a structural flaw in his face. Like i was trying to insult him. In reality, there was nothing to insult Gerard about. Even his appearance maladies couldn’t ruin his beautiful face, as hard as they tried. “Its real red… I mean.” Nice save?

“Ah. It’s just this skin condition I have. Called Dermographism.” He stared at me as if i was supposed to know what he was talking about. “It basically means that I can write on my skin.” That made slightly more sense? “Here. Lemme show you.” He lifted up one of his sleeves. He almost cringed at his “track marks” as he pulled a pencil out of the joey pouch of his sweater. He examined the pencil’s graphite. He shoved it against his skin, gliding it across it a, seemingly, random pattern of lines. I knew it had to spell out a word. “Just wait for it.” he dropped his pencil next to his books. “

I smirked at his arm, waiting for something to happen. “How was your day?” I asked him.

“Shitty.”

“Care to explain?”

He sighed. “I just got off. Enough said.” 

I looked down at his arm. My name had been branded on it in red, inflamed letters. “Holy shit!” I run my finger over the puffy ridges of his skin. “Does it hurt?” 

“Nah. Just itches a little.” He covered his arm with his sleeve. 

“How long will it last?”

“Eh— like thirty minutes.” He reached into the joey-pouch pocket of his sweater. “Maybe you could count it out on this.” He slid a matte blue box across the table. I picked it up and opened the lid. On the satin cushion the box sat a watch with six different clock face on it, all in an array of 2 by three. Each clock face had a different location written underneath it: New York, Los Angeles, Paris, Hong Kong, and Tokyo. I picked it up by it’s brown leather band. “Yah see, I figured since I kinda wasted your time yesterday, I thought I’d give it back. Now you have all the time in the world.”

I was shocked—swooning at his romanticized present—yet utterly shocked. I set it back in its box. “Where the fuck did you get this? I’ve seen one of these motherfuckers on QVC go for $34,000. I know you did not buy me a $34,000 watch, but I also know that it’s not a G-shock.”

“Where does it matter where I got it from. The point is, it’s yours. From me.”

I still couldn’t believe it. “I can’t take it.”

“You’ve gotta.” 

“No.” I pushed the box towards him. 

That was the first time I had ever seen him angry. It was almost instantaneously that his irked expression thickened the air. He leaned in close to me and whispered like a mother scolding her child in public, “I don’t give a fuck what you do with it. Wear it. Sell it. Throw it off the pier. Shove it up your ass. You’re gonna take it.” The way he overreacted to this made me grab at the edge of the booth’s seat. He hadn’t laid a finger on me, yet I could feel his hands tightening around my throat. I wouldn’t stand for it. Not with Tim, and certainly not with him. 

I stood up, pulled a Hamilton out of my wallet and left it on the table. As I walked away, Gerard reached out to grab me. I shook his grip off my arm, nearly punching him in the process to free myself. No. Never again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued...

**Author's Note:**

> To be continued...


End file.
